SXSW 2002

3/14/02
8:00 pm
Primordial Undermind @ Elysium
After an aborted attempt to see Lonesome Bob at Jovita's in the afternoon and a tantalizing taste of local band Grand Champeen (pre-Grave Dancer's Union Soul Asylum lives!) at a Waterloo Records instore, the evening begins for me in earnest at Elysium, formerly the Atomic Cafe. It's an all-psychedelic bill tonight, headlined by a rare US appearance by Japan's venerable Acid Mother's Temple, which I intend to see later. Right now, however, I settle in with the extremely sparse crowd for a set by recent Austin transplant Primordial Undermind. The sextet begins with waves of shimmering noise, provided not only by two guitars but also a portable noise generator of some sort, wielded by a thin young woman at center stage. The pair of drummers start pounding out a tribal beat and the bassist sets her instrument throbbing, as the six-strings scrape, swell and tear and the oscillator howls. And thus it is for the whole of the band's set. The entirely instrumental music ebbs and flows like water on a turbulent sea, with restless waves of guitar effects chasing furious storms of feedback just ahead of a tidal wave of oscillator fury. This is psychedelic jamming unencumbered by a pop sensibility, the Warlocks minus the easily identifiable riffs. It's not for everyone, but those with a bent toward trippy improvisation will find Primordial Undermind to be the bee's knees.

9:00 pm
Venue @ Maggie Mae's
After having my ear canal sandblasted by frenzied jamming, I decide to cleanse the palette with some lighter fare at Maggie Mae's (a club that is at every other time of the year cover band central in the River City) with the Venue. This Swedish quintet recycles mid-60s British pop and American garage rock as if it had never fallen off the hit parade. Fronted by four cute-as-buttons young men in slacks and ties (the drummer looks much older—the father of one of the boys, perhaps?), the group has all the necessary accouterments for its chosen genre: Hofner Beatle bass, big hollowbody guitar and an especially cute harmony singer a la Davy Jones who shakes maracas or a tambourine when not shaking his moptop wildly. Not to mention lots of harmony vocals and hooks by the tacklebox full. The Venue isn't doing anything particularly original, but then, originality isn't exactly a hallmark of guitar pop of any era, and what the band lacks in distinction it makes up for in enthusiasm. This music is all about fun, and as the only band I've seen so far that's inspired the audience to dance, the Venue obviously has that part down.

10:30 pm
Pleasure Club @ Momo's
One long walk later, I squeeze in Momo's for Pleasure Club, the latest venture from singer James Hall. I haven't heard anything from or about Hall since his terrific 1996 album (also entitled Pleasure Club) was left to rot on the major label vine, and I've never seen him play before, so I'm really excited about this show. (I don't even mind enduring the last few tunes by the lame emo/metal band on before him.) Hall and band (including Richard Thompson/Course of Empire drummer Michael Jerome and longtime bassist G.W. Curry) live up to expectations with a ferociously intense set of Hall's patented erotic postpunk gospel. Oozing charisma and self-confidence, the nattily dressed Hall moves smoothly as Astroglide across the stage, like James Brown trapped in Jim Morrison's body, howling, crooning, moaning and generally putting his amazing voice through its paces. The band, remarkably, keeps up with him, never sitting still, furiously tearing riffs and melodies from its instruments with an energy level that matches Hall's. Drummer Jerome is particularly impressive, keeping a groove going no matter what the chaos around him turns into. The set draws heavily from the band's new, self-released album, but it does find room for one oldie, the eponymous song from that same-named album that is essentially Hall's statement of purpose. Pleasure Club is burning with the fires down below, and the audience responds to the intensity with unbridled enthusiasm. Afterward a line quickly forms in order to give the band good wishes and purchase the new CD. The band deserves all the well wishes and sales it can get. This is the best show I've seen this year so far.

12:00 midnight
Burning Brides @ BD Riley's
Despite being fairly confident that I won't see anything else tonight nearly as good as what I just witnessed, I head back down to the entertainment district to BD Riley's to see the Burning Brides. Riley's is a fairly small pub and reaches capacity easily, so I find myself waiting outside in line to get in. The band starts its set before I do so, but that's no big deal—the stage is right next to a set of open windows, so I can hear the Philly trio's blur of distortion and psychobilly drumming, the Cramps filtered through the Stooges. By the time I get in, the band has worked itself into a rock 'n' roll frenzy, with the singer/guitarist aggressively whipping his curly mane around to the beat, stopping only to peel off delightfully over-the-top wah-wah solos. The rhythm section keeps a constant throb going, giving the frontman a wave of groove on which to ride. The primitive riff-rock songs are almost too simple, but they're redeemed by the band's volume and energy. I pass on buying a CD (for now), but I'm glad I caught the show.

1:00 am
Acid Mother's Temple @ Elysium
To close out the night, I head back to Elysium for Acid Mother's Temple, the legendary Japanese outfit that's built enough of a buzz to pack the place. The band is interesting right off due to its visual appeal: two hippies with long hair and beards on guitars, two clean-cut younger guys in T-shirts on bass and drums, and a scruffy slip of a girl (at least I think it's a girl) in a moptop and a football jersey that proclaims "Suck it." Its mostly improvisational instrumentals, created by two guitars, bass, drums and two noise generators, are very much of a piece with those of Primoridal Undermind. The guitarists grind out the riffs and solos, the rhythm section keeps a constant rumble going and the girl leans over her oscillator, casually twisting knobs while bobbing her head to the beat. Frontman Kawabata Makoto weaves and twists to the beat, finding a thread in the music only he can hear, coaxing the melodies with his Telecaster or his portable electronic theremin. Occasional a cappella chanting used as intros leavens the fury somewhat. The psychedelic mantras sound similar to one another to a casual observer, but the band keeps up the intensity from beginning to end, making it easier to think of the music as one big epic freakout than as individual songs. A good time is had by all, but especially the band.